The horse was thin and weak, his hide pale, hair patchy on his appaloosa coat. His coat was fading, white around his muzzle as well. He looked aged by his sickness, but he stood erect near his full six foot two height, both hands leaning on the picket fence as he held himself up. His big lungs heaved, his eyes closed for a moment as his body trembled from the effort. Yuri looked on with concern. She was white furred with orange and black at her ears, eyes, hair, and her stub of a tail, which twitched as she regarded the tall horse, a head taller than her mere 155 centimeter height. “Are…are you all right?” she asked softly, a trace of her Japanese accent in her words. She paused at the door of her Civic, keys in hand.

“Never better.” The horse’s rough, gravelly voice dripped with sarcasm, and clearly showed the strain standing took.  He took a deep breath and took one more halting step, hands stepping one picket down as well, shifting his body a few more inches towards the road. “Well, not since the accident anyway.”

“Can I help?” Yuri asked. This country was so different from home, but she felt the offer was correct in this case.

“Nope.” The horse took another stagger forward, jolting towards the end of the driveway. “Just picking up my mail.” He grunted, leaning on the picket fence while he tried to regain his breath again, arms and legs quivering somewhat. He panted as sweat rolled down his muzzle to drop towards the white boards.

Yuri bit her lip for a moment, hesitant about pressing the issue further. “Are you sure, Mister…”

“John.” He sighed, gathering himself. “Look, I know you mean well, but if I don’t push, I’m never going to get strong again. Today, that means getting to my mailbox.”

Yuri nodded, blushing. “Ah, I see.” She straightened her skirt as she tried to recover. “I’ll leave you to your workout. You have someone to spot you if you fall?”

John grunted. “It’s grass. Either I lay there a while until I get up and go the rest of the way, or I crawl back to my wheelchair inside.” He half spat out the second part of the sentence, and took a limping step, legs trembling violently. He sighed, his voice softening a little. “Seriously. It’s OK. Go. I need this.”

The feline opened her car door. “All right. If you need a hand in the future, feel free to call me.” She closed the door and pulled on her seatbelt, watching her neighbour lurch post by post, getting nearer to the corner of his lawn, and the mailbox with its raised flag a few fence posts beyond. She understood his need for face, for pride, but struggling publicly like that; did he want her to insist? She decided he didn’t, put the key in the ignition, started her little car, and backed out towards the road.